


A King Denuded

by Poplitealqueen



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Black Panther (2018), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: T'Challa isn't quite prepared for the hardships of revealing the true Wakanda to the world, but he's trying. By Bast, he's trying. His family is with him every step of the way, along with his soon-to-be wife, the General of his armies, her husband, and a broken one-armed white boy turned lab assistant. Whether the Avengers are with him is still up for debate, but Tony Stark certainly seems interested in visiting.Then the leader of the Jabari Tribe shows up with a message of reunification that hasn't been suggested in centuries, and things get really complicated.ORWatch me weave a gay superhero tale with excessive chess-like symbolism and polyamory (if you think I'd sideline Nakia you've got another thing coming, fam).





	A King Denuded

**Author's Note:**

> Guess What? I'm in the Black Panther fandom now. Surprised? You won't be if you've seen the movie. I've decided to do my part in building up the fic count, particularly in the M'Challa part.
> 
> Tags will be edited later. I'm currently in an ER waiting room typing this on my phone, and surprise surprise it's being goofy. Shocking, I know.
> 
> I'm in it for the long haul. This fic is shaping up to be a long one, and I'm happy to tag along. Updates will be weekly most likely, possibly more often when I have free time.
> 
> Enjoy, folks. Wakanda forever!
> 
> -Miss Pop

T'Challa never had much luck when playing Senterej. From boyhood to kingship, it seemed the game would forever escape him, one lost battle to fit in with all the others to learn from but never win. His frustration with it had always amused his father, particularly during the werera.

“You think too hard, my son,” the king would say with a smile as he picked up the first captured piece (always T'Challa’s) between his dark weathered fingers and placed it to the side of their board. “You need only move right now.”

To that, T'Challa would always scoff. I need to think, he’d respond on occasion. If I don’t, I will make a mistake and lose even if I make all the moves that I can.

“And what is wrong with that?” His father would wonder aloud. “Can a ruler not make mistakes?”

T'Challa would always answer the same throughout the years, though as he grew older, the reasons changed.

No, he’d say as a child, a ruler can’t make mistakes. It’s impossible! Because you’re a ruler, and you’re always right, Tata.

No, he’d say as a young man, a ruler can’t make mistakes, because they should know better if they rule a kingdom!

No, he’d said the final time they had played together, a ruler must move, he must think, and he must act. Mistakes are only an action with unforseen consequences, so you can’t really call them mistakes. Simply a learning experience.

Sometimes his father would respond with a chuckle, but most often it was with a soft hum and a thoughtful look at T'Challa. The kind of look that made the Prince’s skin tingle unpleasantly, and caused him to wonder for days afterward if he had said something wrong. His father never respomded anything after that, and they would play in conpanionable silence until T'Challa inevitably lost again.

Once, and only once, when T'Challa was still just a young man and his father had returned from a trip to America, the king asked him,

“My son, do you believe I have ever made a mistake?”

T'Challa didn’t looked up from the board, engrossed in deciding between moving the negus or the der. “You let Shuri build her own hoverbike last summer, and she nearly created a vibranium-powered superweapon. Mama still hasn’t forgiven you.”

His father laughed, and as was his way it was a soft laugh, hardly there, like the whisper of wind through grass. “As a man, I have made many mistakes! I ask you as a king. Do you believe I have ever made a mistake?”

The way his father said those words, the strange, somber tone of them, made T'Challa pull his eyes away from the board. He found his father watching him with eyes wide and sad, far more haunted than T'Challa had ever seen them, even when the outpost in the border lands had been bombed and W'Kabi’s parents killed.

“Tata?”

His father continued to watch without truly seeing, his eyes glazed and distant. “There are consequences to every action, but none are as terrible as the consequences of an action not taken. Remember that, always, T'Challa. When you take my place, it is the most important lesson you must learn. Do you understand? A king must always act.”

T'Challa swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I understand,” he said, and like uttering the secret phrase before a magic door, his father opened back up. The darkness in his eyes receeded, and he smiled once again.

After Baba was killed, T'Challa had no one to play Senterej with. His Mother was too busy (forcing herself to stay busy, though no one would point that out to her); Shuri always beat him, laughed about beating him, and then brainstormed about how best they could improve on the game itself; Okoye didn’t play, and neither did W'Kabi, though each loved to sit and watch and offer ideas on what the best next move would be; the White Wolf had stared at the board dumb-founded muttering something about chess and how terrible he was at it until with a sigh T'Challa said he could leave; and Nakia, squeezing his hand and placing a kiss on his lips, had simply said no to his offer.

“Neither of us enjoys playing it,” she said, smirking up at him. T'Challa smiled back, and kissed her again, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She was right. He’d always hated the game, yet after everything – Zemo, Killmonger, all else in between – he’d found himself drawn to it like an animal to water, instinctively looking to fill some basic need, though he knew not what yet. He wondered what would happen when he did.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long, because a few days after that, the Jabari came in peace to Birnin Zana.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Senterej is an early form of chess that originated in West Africa. One particularly interesting aspect of it is the fact that the game starts with both players taking as many turns as they want until a piece is captures, then back and forth turns start.
> 
> *Tata is the Xhosa word for father.
> 
> *Me? Salty about T'Chaka and wanting him to feel incredible guilt? Nahhhhh.
> 
> *The idea of Bucky casually being adopted into the family brings me great joy. We all know it was Shuri's idea.


End file.
